


Missing You

by bittenfeld



Category: Miami Vice, Miami Vice (TV)
Genre: Death, Explicit Sex, M/M, Male Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 02:34:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1328674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittenfeld/pseuds/bittenfeld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Memories plague Martin Castillo, memories of Jack Gretsky, memories of a love shared, memories of a love cut short; warm memories of stolen moments in the jungles of Viet Nam…cold memories of a Buddhist temple in Miami…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Missing You

The warmth of your hands. I remember the warmth of your hands, Jack, as you used to caress my body. As your fingertips stroked trails down my skin, their heat igniting love-fire in my gut. You were made of fire… your mouth burned me when we kissed, your tongue scorched me as it tingled my cock to life with licks of flame.

We had so little time together. So little time. What I wouldn’t give to have you here again, lying beside me once more, setting me on fire with your touches, and conjoining our bodies in a raging blaze of unification, a ritual of warriors, a bonding of blood-promised souls.

In all of three years, we snatched moments of pleasure whenever we could. Moments stolen from our superiors in the Company, those who would take us from each other if they found out. Moments stolen in a thicket of teak in northern Thailand, in a stinking marsh off a tributary of the Mekong River, in a back-room of a whore-house in old Saigon…

But they did find out. We were foolish to think they wouldn’t. That summer… how many years ago… They tormented us and separated us… ordered me to Thang Duc in the central highlands of South Vietnam near the Cambodian border, and shipped you six-hundred miles away to the outskirts of Hanoi. They sent you in alone – they never intended for you, Jack Gretsky, to come back out.

I remember one evening, one muggy evening, thinking of you. Seven weeks without a word. Not knowing if you were alive or dead, safe or in the hands of the NVA. Wondering when you’d come back… _if_ you’d come back…

My unit had just spent the better part of a week clearing out some Cong tunnels breaching the border. It had been a successful mission – as successful as that kind ever is – uncovering several caches of heavy weaponry and capturing a few scared NVA troops left behind to guard, who were all too eager to coöperate at the muzzle of a good old American-made M-16. But now, we were tired and sweaty and hungry, and just glad it was over.

I had washed up, and then stepped out onto the back-porch of our cabin in hopes of catching a cool breeze. From somewhere in the distance over the hills, the dull whack-whack of a Huey’s rotors approached.

For a lingering fraction of a moment, I left myself imagine you were returning. My hands slid over my body, and I imagined they were your hands reviving me:

_… your palms press my pecs, massaging in slow firm circles. Little sparks snap and flicker from the touch down to the center of my belly, down to my soft dick. Thumbs and forefingers pinch flat nipples, tug and twist erotically, painfully, until the nubs swell into hard little beads. Then down my front to the thatch of coarse hair, and the half-stiff column of flesh lolling amidst the brush. Your fingers card through the tangled mat, then curl around the bare wrinkled flesh, and rub from base to tip, then back again._

_At the gentle stimulation, a shiver skitters over my skin, leaving a wave of goosebumps in its wake. Responsively my cock twitches in the careful grip. A pulse of blood surges in the twisted veins networking its surface. A few casual strokes up and down the underside ridge, a fingertip nudging up just where the crown edge meets the hole. Another quiver zags through my cock as it enlarges and thrusts up, searching for your touch, for your mouth, for that sweetest kiss of all. An ache throbs in my cock, in my loins, in my skull. It thrums in my balls, as your hand cups the dangling satchel. Sensually the grip squeezes one ball in its sac, pulling it down until the skin is tight and hot and smooth. Then the other. Feels them like two big hard marbles, caressing them, then releases them and slides the circling grip back down the shaft._

_Again your fingertips dance over my cockhead… so feathery, so delicate. Ice crystals sprinkle across my naked skin. Then ever so gently the touch traces about the spongy head. And I can’t repress the ghost-wind that whispers over my body. Involuntarily I moan my response to the intimate exploration… so good… so very good… Wetness leaks down the channel of my penis, and a droplet of pearly viscidness beads at the opening. The probing finger tests the tacky fluid, smears it all over the glans._

_Again the fist curls around the post, squeezes firmly from base to tip, milking a dribble from my hole. Sensually the palm moistens itself with the lubricating fluid, then returns to massage my shaft; and my hardening cock swells even larger in the grasping hand._

_A sudden electric surge nearly triggers my climax – the pumping fist stills itself, and I pull a few deep steadying breaths. Trying to hold it off, trying to make the sensation of anticipation linger._

_But my cock won’t wait any longer. It refuses any further delays. The swollen purple glans thrums with desperate need._

_A groan rumbles in my throat. I feel you squeeze my balls again, envision you gripping me there, while your mouth kisses my cock and deep-throats it. The intense image of you on your knees before me, sucking me off, takes my breath away._

_A sheen of sweat slicks my skin as the fingers massage harder, more vigorously, keening the fiery need right to the edge of agony. One hand pumps fiercely, then the other pushes down further between my legs to seek a tight pucker in the moist dark intimacy of gluteal cleavage. A touch so intimate on my private opening; then the probe thrusts in mercilessly, and I cry out my surrender as tension explodes, as warm viscid cum jolts from my cock to splatter the hand working it, dribble down my thighs, and anoint the ground with its libation._

_And then the ecstasy fades, and you fade along with it; and I am left weak, gasping for breath … and alone. Wanting you… wanting you…_

You showed up back in Pleiku nine days after we returned. You were filthy and exhausted, but happy to be home again, even if ‘home’ was nothing more than a barracks tent in a crowded army base. Somehow we found a corner of privacy and welcomed each other back in a manner to make up for all the weeks of separation.

But that was twenty years ago. After the war, we drifted apart, as our lives took different courses, until we were assigned together again and sent into the ambush at Mae Sai. The Company intended for us both to die then, and I thought you had. I thought I had lost you forever.

Yet like the fabled Phoenix, you came back once more. After all these years, to see you yesterday… I wanted you as I’d never wanted you before, feeling the thrill that squeezed my heart with warmth and excitement.

Yet now, as I lie on my futon, staring out the glass doors at the Miami night sky, a heavy ache squeezes the bleak emptiness in my chest, a painful need to be with you, to touch your warm flesh, to take your body, and submit my own to you. To love you now as we loved then, without inhibition, without fear.

But the only image that rises before my eyes is yesterday’s horror, lit by the temple candles flickering light and shadow over your fallen form before the ebony Buddha. I look down at your staring gaze frozen cold in death, and the gun is hot in my grasp, even as my gut freezes to an icy core.

It doesn’t help knowing you were being hounded by the Company again, when you came to me for assistance, showing up after all these years, telling me that I was the only one you trusted to make things right. Hearing your voice assure casually, “Loosen up, Marty, everything’s fine, everything’s working out just fine…” It doesn’t help knowing that you relied on my automatic reflexes – that when you, without warning, drew your gun on me, you knew that I would draw and fire without thinking, and cut you down, right there on the tile floor of the temple. It doesn’t help finding out later that you had metastatic cancer, and had chosen this way to be relieved of your pain, and to protect your wife and son from the chance of a Company assassin’s bullet. It doesn’t help to consider that, were our situations reversed, I might have made the same decision.

After all these years, Jack, to see you for such a brief few minutes… We didn’t have time to make love… we didn’t even kiss before you left on the longest journey of all. My heart clenches within my chest, in the darkness of a long cold night.

I only wish I could believe you were coming home again. 

* * * * * FINIS * * * * *


End file.
